


Ashes to Ashes

by Maesonry



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Heavy Angst, Historical Accuracy, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Origin Story, Original Character Death(s), light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: 1406, SCP-049 was just a young man named Estienne, living with his family in southern France. The days were long and the vineyard beautiful, and it seemed that nothing would ever break this simple peace.And then, the Plague came.This is SCP-049’s origin story.





	Ashes to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Dust to dust
> 
> The titular origin story that I’ve spent a long time researching, and mapping out. Filled with headcanons. A parting gift to the SCP Fandom. Enjoy.

_“Born in the year 1389, SCP-049 (known then as Estienne) lived in Southern France with his family and worked at their vineyard, nearby the village of Nîmes. A young man still, Estienne was engaged to be married to his fiancée. Though they didn't have much money, he and his family were happy…”_

 

It was a warm Autumn that year in the village of Nîmes. Living so close to the sea meant that every breeze was tinged with brine, and Estienne felt one such wind blow past, tangling into his hair. In a fluid motion that spoke of practice, yet rough with afterthought, Estienne swiftly tied his hair back, out of his face. The woven basket held against his hip was nearly filled with grapes, picked fresh from the vines of his family’s vineyard. This year’s harvest was going well. With the early start, it meant they could begin selling the excess off to the local vintners, who would turn it into Rosé wine. What was left, his family would bottle themselves, and sell to the village at a modest price. It was enough to keep the farm running, keep food on the table, and take care of six- five children. Estienne set down one last grape bundle into the basket and began to walk back to the house, the sun beating down overhead, clouds lazily rolling past. 

“Estienne!” his mother called, standing in the doorway, little Oudine behind her, “Jaquette has come by to see you!”

Estienne hurried the rest of the way, setting down his haul, and turning back to the doorway. His mother had left, back to the cooking pot, where she was making dinner for the night. Oudine was old enough to help her, while Plantée, only six years in age, could only watch. Estienne cleared his throat. 

“You said Jaquette is here?” he asked, eager, failing to hide his excitement. His mother rolled her eyes, but fondly, as she gestured out of the window. 

“Collette and her are talking in the fields. When you go out there, be sure to tell Colin to come back. He needs to run to town to help his father.”

Estienne nodded, not wasting a moment longer lingering in the home. He waved goodbye to his younger sisters, before using a clean rag to wipe the sweat from his face, making himself look presentable for his fiancée- well, as presentable as he could. He ran out into the fields a second after, rushing past the yawning trees, the grape vines that spiraled upwards towards the sun. In the distance, near the shed towards the base of the hill, Estienne could see two figures. It didn’t take more than a moment for him to recognize them as his eldest sister, Collette, and his fiancée, Jaquette. And, hiding amidst the rows of green vines, he could see Colin as well. Estienne smiled in the way that only a mischievous older sibling could, presented with the chance to sneak up on the younger. Slowly, he crept towards his younger brother, before jumping out from behind an elderberry bush.

“Colin!” Estienne shouted, as loud and as frightening as he could. His little brother shrieked and whipped around- bonking Estienne across the head with a wooden sword. Estienne completed the act by falling onto the ground, as if he were defeated.

“Estienne!” Colin whined, “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“Blah. You have vanquished me, the greatest evil,” Estienne bemoaned, crossing his hands over his chest as if he were dead. Colin whined some more, lightly hitting Estienne with the wooden sword, until Estienne eventually sat up. Colin sniffed, upset, and Estienne playfully ruffled his hair.

“Mom wants you back at the house. She needs you to go do something in town,” Estienne explained. Colin looked confused for a moment, before his eyes lit up.

“Do you think she’ll let me go to the bakery?” He asked, excited. Estienne made a show of considering.

“If you’re good enough, maybe.”

Colin didn’t waste a moment before he was running through the fields, wooden sword trailing behind him and tattered soldier’s hat on his head. Estienne laughed, before standing up, dusting the dirt from his clothes, and walking the rest of the way to the shed, where Jaquette and Collette still stood. Estienne caught the last snippets of their conversation, something about the couriers in Alburîme, some worrying news. It was gone before he could decipher it.

“Is something wrong?” Estienne asked, walking through the last row of vines, into a small clearing. Jaquette and Collette turned to him, twin smiles on their faces, though Collette’s was more impish than charming. 

“Estienne!” Jaquette exclaimed, running over into Estienne’s arms, where he embraced her and they spun around once, “Oh, I’ve missed you!”

“We’ve only been apart for three days,” Estienne whispered, but then he smiled, “But it still feels like a century.”

“And so nice to see you as well, _grand frère_ ,” Collette teased, “No, it’s alright, your little sister sees how it is- no greeting is just as good for her, now that you are moving on in life.”

“And hello to you, Collette,” Estienne replied, grinning, “But, I should say the same to you. After all, you’ll be leaving to great Paris soon, with your fiancé, Connell- no more room for little Nîmes anymore.”

Collette crossed her arms in a figurative huff, but it was all in jest, as a moment later, they both laughed. Even Jaquette laughed, light and airy, and the sound of the three of them simply laughing, basking in each other’s company, echoed down the rolling green hills of France. With the sun overhead, the rustling of the sea-tinged wind wrapping around the ancient vineyard, the three took the time to count their blessings, and enjoy the peace they were given. 

 

_“Though they didn't have much money, he and his family were happy…”_

 

_“But, around 1406, the Black Death swept in.”_

 

 

“Estienne!” his mother called, “Estienne! Come quickly!” 

Estienne nearly dropped his basket in his surprise, only barely managing to set it down onto the ground, as he turned to the house. His mother stood in the doorway, like always, but this time, her face was stricken with fear- even from this distance, he could see the way that Oudine and Robin gripped her skirt. Far above, ominous grey clouds roiled, flipping end over end in the Heavens, and Estienne ran. There was a storm coming.

“Mother!” Estienne shouted, bursting into the house, panting, “Wha-what’s wrong?”

His mother stood facing the window, looking off into town. Her face was twisted, an expression Estienne had never seen on her before. She released the curtain, letting it fall and cover the window once more, before turning to face her son. 

“Estienne,” She began, voice as solemn and foreboding as the sound of a judge’s gavel, “There is something wrong in the town,” and the words hung in the silence, congealing. Estienne was at a loss, paralyzed to ask for more yet afraid. His mother glanced down at her children, “Oudine, Plantée, go to your room. Estienne and I have to talk.”

The two daughters obeyed without a word, and the only sound that broke the quiet was that of rusted hinges, a door being pulled closed. Estienne and his mother locked eyes. 

“Do you know where Collette is?” She asked him. Estienne mentally fumbled for a moment, before nodding.

“Yes, she’s… she’s up in Paris for a few weeks. With her fiancé.”

“And Colin?”

“He should be in the shed.”

His mother exhaled. Estienne had never seen the weight of years before this, and then his mother opened her eyes again, “Some of the couriers from Alburîme arrived today. The city is gone.”

“Gone?” Estienne struggled to understand, “What do you mean?”

“A few weeks ago, they were struck by a… a plague. Some believe it was a curse, the wrath of God. Almost half of the village is dead. The couriers have come to us for safety, but, there is something wrong with them too,” His mother walked back to the curtain, peeking out, as if she might see something, “They… have begun to heat up. A fever. Yet, they are always cold. Just yesterday, the doctor found… rings, under their arms.”

Estienne felt some terrible, building feeling in his chest, as his mother described what had happened. He too glanced out at the town. It looked the same as always, but now, Estienne couldn’t help but feel some invisible blanket lay over the buildings, slowly suffocating everyone within. Everyone…

Estienne gasped, “Jaquette!” He pressed his hands and face against the window, before pulling back, “Mother, Jaquette is in there, I have to-” only to be stopped by a pair of hands on his collar, holding him back.

“Estienne, you can’t,” his mother whispered. He tried to get away.

“Mother, what do you mean I can’t- I have to! It’s, she’s my fiancée- I can’t leave her!”

“Estienne!” His mother’s voice made him stop, and she gently grabbed his cheek, turning him back to face her. She was crying, “I’ve already lost Robin. Please, don’t make me lose you too.”

Estienne… didn’t know what to do. If he stayed, he’d leave Jaquette… she, she might not make it. Estienne tried to think of a world without her, but he found he couldn’t- it would be a world besette by some disease, strangled of all color. But, if he left, he too could die. He’d be leaving his mother alone, be leaving his family. What choice did he have, then?...

The front door to the house suddenly opened. Estienne’s father, Adam, stepped in, his clothes drenched with water, his eyes frantic.

“Agnesot! Have you seen Colin?” He demanded, almost pleading. His mother released her hold on Estienne.

“No, he should be out in the shed-”

“He’s not there.”

The silence solidified, crystalised, the wind howling past the wooden boards, salty sea breeze choking and suffocating. Estienne’s mother broke the silence first.

“No, no- did you check?” She begged, “Are you sure?”

“He’s not there.”

Estienne’s mother let out a wail, a scream of pain and terror, of a mother faced with losing yet another child. Because, if Colin was not in the shed, if Colin was not at the vineyard, where would he be?

The town. 

 

 

 

 

_“The plague struck his family one by one, and due to their poverty, they could not afford any treatments. Even if they had, it would not have helped.”_

 

Estienne’s father had gone into town, had managed to find Colin and bring him back home. It was an anxious feeling, as the rest of the family waited, uncertain and afraid, to see if Colin was well. And, the little boy was well. It seemed that God had watched over them that day, that Colin was not sick, had been spared what was sweeping through the town like a fire.

It was around the second day that Estienne’s mother noticed the rash. 

“There’s that patch of poison ivy growing over on the hill,” She reasoned, as she gently dabbed on the rash with a wet cloth, “He just ran through that. You have to be more careful, Colin.”

The next day, Colin complained of pain. 

“Mom, it hurts,” He pointed to the rash, which had crawled from his arms to his back, creeping like a spiderweb, “It doesn’t itch, it just hurts.”

And Estienne’s mother frowned, and continued to spread salve over the rash. Oudine and Plantée looked out the window to the town, huddled together, while Estienne’s father tried to hide his prayers. Try as he might, Estienne couldn’t banish the tendrils of fear that lanced through his heart. That night, he dreamt of avian skulls filled with sweet-smelling herbs, and smothering rooms of uniform grey. 

On the fourth day, Colin was struck by lethargy. He was bedridden by then, strange boils over his body, chills wracking him when the fever would barely break. Estienne’s mother barely left his side, trying to feed him lukewarm soup when he was able to keep it down, singing softly to him when he was coherent. Plantée had begun to develop some strange swellings, under her arms, but Oudine urged her to keep them hidden. Estienne knew. But who was there to tell? What was he to do, as he watched, like a caged animal, that deadly disease take loathsome bites out of his family.

And so, like a coward, Estienne said nothing.

Instead, he watched as, on the fifth day, the buboils on Colin’s body burst, filled with blood. He listened to his mother scream, as his father held Oudine and Plantée close, as little Colin, no more than ten years of age, breathed his last, rattling gasp…

And died.

 

 

 

_“Estienne, the only one unaffected, was helpless to watch as his family wasted away.”_

 

The topsoil of Colin’s grave had barely settled, when Plantée died next. She was only six years old, still young to the world, and her body couldn’t fight the disease- a passing breath, and nothing more, before the body was moved to the shed. The home that had once been their haven was becoming their tomb, and like an animal, backed into a corner, with no escape, Estienne was trapped.

Estienne’s mother came next. The boils had appeared when she tended to Plantée, but she didn’t rest. She refused to back down, standing tall and firm, until the fifth day, when the pain became too much, and like those before her, she was forced to concede. Estienne, at that point, cared little for the possibility that he too would become sick- it was only a matter of time, and so he went to his mother, to see if there was anything he could do.

Estienne’s mother’s bed was lined with quilts, ones that had been passed through the family for generations. From great grandmother, to grandmother, to daughter. One sat in the corner, untouched and unfinished. Beneath the mountain of stitched memories, his mother looked impossibly frail, like the ghostly woman in white, holding onto this world by force alone. 

“Estienne,” She smiled, but it was quick to disappear, a smile stolen from snatches of time, “You shouldn’t be here. You know that.”

“I know, but I couldn’t just leave you in this room to-”

She rose a gaunt hand, just barely, to quiet him, “You should not be here, in this house. Estienne, my dear… my dear son. You deserve to live.”

Estienne knew that delirium was the sign that death was near, but his mother seemed as coherent as she ever was, and so he leaned inwards, a few strands of hair escaping the tie, as he strained his ears and fought to urge to hug his mother.

“I can’t leave you,” He promised, quiet and sincere, “You’ll get better. Father is still well, and so is Oudine, and myself. We’ll get through this, please… don’t give up.”

A hand, light as a feather against his cheek, “Estienne…” his mother’s fingers gently stroked the side of his face, like he was young again, scraped knees and messy hair. She made to say something, then paused… “Estienne. Under the cupboard, there is money. Go into town and find the apothecary. Buy a bottle of his aged treacle. Your father will be able to use it to help me.”

Estienne leapt up, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” and perhaps he snatched up the chance so quickly because, inside, he wanted so desperately for any form of hope, “I’ll go right away!”

Estienne’s mother watched him go, and then she slowly closed her eyes. 

It was only centuries later that Estienne would realize that she sent him away so that he wouldn’t have to watch the rest of his family die. 

 

 

_“The plague took his fiancé last.”_

 

 

There was no more apothecary in the town. The doctor was gone. The merchants had closed their shops. Each window was shuttered, each door barred. The houses with crosses painted upon their exteriors spoke of death inside. The streets, formerly so lively, were barren, dirt kicked up into the air, as Estienne ran, heedless of any dangers. If he could not return home with the treacle, then he would at least check on Jaquette. A task which had seemed simple before he had entered the town, but now that Estienne saw the scope of the destruction by that unseen disease, he was afraid. 

At first glance, Jaquette’s home was no different than usual. It was in the upper segments of town, and, as Estienne had hoped, perhaps protected from the brunt of the plague. At the very least, Estienne hoped that her family’s money had been able to afford them some treatments, something they’d be willing to spare. And then, everything would be fine again. Everything would be fine. 

But looks can be deceiving. As Estienne drew closer, he could see signs that not all was right. The flowers in the windows, normally vibrant, were reduced to patches of decaying brambles. Even the ivy that had sprouted through stone pathways was receded, as if afraid of what it had known. Estienne rushed to the front door, knocking heavily on the thick, oaken wood. Once, twice, three times. 

“Jaquette!” He called, voice rattling around the empty air, “Jaquette!”

Estienne tried to push- and the door simply swung open. The foyer was as empty as the outside, no sign of the various staff that called the place home. A fine layer of dust even covered certain specks of glass, and off to the kitchen, a rat scurried past. And Estienne? Estienne ran. He ran up the staircase, to the hallway, turning and running the rest of the way to Jaquette’s room. There was a faint light on, in the room, and he pushed himself to cross the rest of the length of distance, until, forgetting social politeness, he shoved the door open.

The curtains were drawn. A single oil lamp burned against the encroaching darkness, a dying, flickering flame. Estienne ignored that in favor of walking up to the bed, the bed where Jaquette lay. At first, he was seized by the pure terror that she was dead, no sleeping, but faint rise and fall of chest was a sign against that. Estienne exhaled in relief, quietly padding the rest of the way over. He noted, with some trepidation, the medical supplies on her nightstand. And, as he was only a half meter away from his beloved, another type of fear settled into his bones. Jaquette was as pale as the grave, her eyes sunken, her hair devoid of luster. When her eyelids fluttered, and she opened her eyes, they were clouded by some faint haze.

“Estienne,” She breathed, “Is… is it really you?”

Estienne crouched over, “Yes. Yes, Jaquette, it’s me.”

But her smile was not full, as she whispered, “That’s what they always say.”

Estienne frowned, gently cupping her hand. He knew… he knew that delusions were a symptom. A symptom of the disease, “I swear on my life, Jaquette, that I am real,” and, carefully, he placed a kiss on her hand, like he always did. Jaquette’s eyes regained some glimmer of life at that.

“Estienne?” and at then, her smile glowed, For a single, brief moment, it seemed as though everything was as it always had been, no terrible shroud of death hanging over the town. And, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, it disappeared just as quickly, on the breath of Jaquette’s exhale, all of her vigor fading. Estienne blinked, and he couldn’t help but see his mother in the way Jaquette was dwarfed by her blankets, how fragile she seemed. 

“The doctor is gone, isn’t he?” Jaquette asked. Estienne could never lie to her, so he nodded. Her smile grew smaller, but that was it, “That’s alright. He tried his best.”

Jaquette seemed… resigned. The gravity of the situation hung like a noose around Estienne’s neck, and he scrambled for something, anything.

“Is there anything I can do? I tried for the apothecary, but I’m sure I could go back out and find something, I-”

The light in the room grew dimmer.

“There’s medicine. On the table,” Jaquette looked over at the tinted green bottle. Estienne picked it up, reading the label of arsenic. A potent cure, for many things, if you had the money to afford it. Estienne also grabbed the small cup beside it, looking hopefully to Jaquette, as she gingerly nodded, “I’ve… been taking that, like he said. A cure. Could you help today? Everything… hurts too much.”

“Of course, my love,” Estienne assured. If this would cure Jaquette, Estienne would remain by her side as long as he could to help her. It gave him hope, that if this was the cure, then he could bring some to his family too. Soon, everything would be fine again. Estienne uncorked the bottle, careful to hold the pungent mixture away from his nose, as he filled the cup halfway. He set the bottle back onto the nightstand, leaning in close to Jaquette.

“Here, drink this. It will cure you,” Estienne promised. Jaquette smiled, wordlessly accepting the cup, while Estienne helped her guide it to her lips. Not a drop was wasted. Then, Estienne set the cup back onto the table. Jaquette’s eyelids had fluttered closed, and Estienne gently moved some matted hair from out of her face. She looked so peaceful, like this.

“I love you, Jaquette,” Estienne promised, “When this is all over, we’ll finally be married. We’ll have a beautiful wedding, the entire town will be there.”

“Oh, it will be lovely, Estienne…” Jaquette whispered. The precarious rise and fall of her chest stutter-stepped for a moment. Estienne’s brow creased.

And, finally, the light went out.

“Jaquette? … Jaquette?! ... Jaquette!”

 

_“Alone, and unable to bear the grief, Estienne disappeared, leaving his family home behind forever.”_

 

The vineyard was deceptively peaceful in appearance. It would have been fitting to say that it was barren, that the vines had withered and died as their owners had, but that was not true. They were still as green as ever, and the house itself looked no different than it always had. Today, the curtains were drawn, the inside tidied up. Yes, in fact, the only thing that a keen eye might have noticed was off was the addition of five new plots of dirt that have recently been excavated and then refilled: graves.

Estienne mechanically wiped his brow, looking at his work with a critical eye. The five wooden crosses were not perfect by any means, but they were made with care, and that was what counted. They were finished. Estienne noiselessly stood up, grabbing each labeled cross, and walking out of the shed, back to the… to the graves.

A hammer helped stake the crosses into the ground. First was Plantée’s. Then came Oudine’s. Colin’s. Agnestot, the mother. And Adam, the father. 

There was no grave for Collette. She was still up in Paris, but that didn’t mean she was alive. If the disease spread as quickly as it killed, which it did, then it would only be a matter of time. 

Estienne would have buried Jaquette with his family, but he didn’t. She deserved to be buried with her ancestors. Estienne’s family had been born farmers, and farmers they died.

Estienne stood up. There was nothing left for him here, and so he began to walk. Down the hill. Into the great, wide vastness of country. 

To live. To die.

 

 

 

 

 

_For a period of centuries, Estienne roamed Europe, kept alive by the disease he unintentionally carried within himself. Wherever he went, death followed, and so it was a logical assumption that humanity was stricken by some Disease. And, if there was a Disease, then he would Cure it. No one else would suffer what he suffered._

 

 

Time marched on. Estienne did not. The slow crawl of years, to decades, each one leaving him behind. He did not age. He did not need to drink, to eat, to sleep. One last laugh, by fate, as he lived, where everyone died.

Estienne roamed Europe. At first, to find some place to die. But soon, his wanderings became frantic. For, everywhere he went, it seemed that so did the plague. No, no, it wasn’t the plague. It was a Disease. Something, that caused these people to choke and die, fistfulls of air and nothing else.

It seemed that nowhere and no one was safe. 

Estienne tried to hide. He secluded himself in mountain forests, in caves- as his skin grew hard like the tanned hide of cloaks, as his hair darkened and wove itself together, as bony protrusions from his face began to form a macabre bone bird beak. Estienne watched as he changed, into some terrifying creature- as skin turned to cloak, hair to hood, face to mask. He could no longer smile; that meant the mouth of the mask opening, and razor teeth. A monster.

And so, to cope with this monstrous appearance, Estienne… ignored it.

If he was affected, he reasoned, then so were other people. They were suffering. And Estienne had vowed that no one would suffer like his family had, like dear Jaquette had. She had said it herself, on her deathbed- it was a Cure. 

And it was, wasn’t it? She suffered no longer.

And if that was a Cure, then Estienne… Estienne would be the Cure. 

It was like a river of cold water, clarity in his thoughts, as these thoughts slid into place. It was so obvious. Yes, he was the Cure. He would be the Cure, and save those that suffered from this foul Disease that perverded the land. 

“Do not be afraid,” he whispered to the air, “I am the Cure.”

 

 

 

_Finally, nearly six hundred years after the inciting incident, the Foundation would capture Estienne,, giving him the designation SCP-049. And the rest is history._

“SCP-049 is a humanoid entity, roughly 1.9 meters in height, which bears the appearance of a medieval plague doctor. While SCP-049 appears to be wearing the thick robes and the ceramic mask indicative of that profession, the garments instead seem to have grown out of SCP-049's body over time1, and are now nearly indistinguishable from whatever form is beneath them. X-rays indicate that despite this, SCP-049 does have a humanoid skeletal structure beneath its outer layer.…”

**Author's Note:**

> Estienne is basically the equivalent of Steve


End file.
